Fisherman Maris

Away from shore there was the faintest whisper of an early afternoon breeze which was just enough to cool the sailors and their passengers but the sun remained fierce enough to burn unprotected skin. Maris had a stock of little pots of an oily, pale green, salve made from some amalgam of seaweed and fish paste, and he handed one to each of the priestesses.

"We all use this at sea in high summer," he said, then observing the way Gemulae wrinkled her nose, continued with a laugh. "Stinks a little bit until you get used to it but it'll save you from getting cooked. Make sure you cover the back of you neck, your forehead and your arms - anywhere where there's bare skin."

The captain seemed pleased to see them, but as Hella reminded herself, he hadn't heard them play yet.

"No Spearwings," one of the sailors observed with a sigh, looking at the blue sky which was empty of seabirds. "Bad sign."

"The Spearwings follow the fish and we would try to follow them under normal circumstances," Maris explained. "Doesn't always work."

"Got a few clouds today, though," someone else piped up hopefully. "Maybe get some rain if we're lucky? Maybe reach the shore if they're even luckier."

The Nephatar Fishing Fleet

It was mid afternoon and 18th bell before the fleet was in the required position. There had been no rain and by now the breeze had died down and the sea was almost mirror smooth. The fleet had cut their engines and in the absence of the background churn and hum of the screw propellers there was only the sound of wind and water. A little chirp and a flash of green, signalled that it was time to begin the music.

Then the priestesses commenced the most stressful performance Hella could ever remember and that included at least two critical tests that would have finished her membership of the Harmonic Order if she'd failed.

The guitar began on its own, Jodyth holding them in a fierce gaze, the first chord slightly discordant by design, the keyshift that was Hella's cue to begin, a little out of time by accident. Then Hella was strengthening the sound, covering Jodyth's minor slips and playing a complex counterpoint to the guitar, which dropped in and out of the beat. A few bars later they had got over the tricky introduction, with Gemulae coming in with the violin on a high note and adding a sweet cascade of notes which took them into the long central movement. From that point on, they hit a groove and the music started to perform its magic.

It wasn't bad at all. In fact it was far and away the best they had played this crucial piece since seeing the score for the first time only that morning. Lynodyth had truly looked with favour on their efforts!

The fishermen, who in all honesty were prepared to try anything that could improve the catch, were in their hearts about as sceptical an audience of non-believers as the Harmonic Order priestesses would ever encounter. Yet even they could sense the working of the arcane threads which travelled from boat to boat and under the water, urging fish into the nets that had already been deployed.

"It's actually working," Hella thought to herself as she struggled to find the fingering for the next section. But then somehow, in some way, there was a subtle error. It hadn't come from their boat, she was sure. It came from across the water. There was an arcane discordance in the lines of communication which affected all the musicians who sensed that their work was failing. They struggled to hold the theme, to reinforce the tune and to find the complex rhythms they were supposed to be contributing to the grand design. It was no good. With a sob of frustration, Jodyth threw the guitar down and then they were all reeling.

The Pride of Laque was hardly moving in the slow swell but neither was it entirely steady and that must have been a part of it. Then too, Hella hadn't eaten since breakfast. The delivery of the magical music had been difficult and induced a great deal of anxiety. As much as she loved playing in private, Hella was naturally shy and was still working on ways of overcoming her nerves in public performances. Add to that the heat of the day and the strange psychic feedback when the magical threads tore apart and it is small wonder that from some combination of any or all of these, she suddenly felt queasy and a little faint. Turning her head over the side of the boat she retched desperately and spasmodically into the ocean, an evacuation which brought little relief on an almost empty stomach.

She stared miserably out over the gently rolling swell, head bowed with the acid reflux still burning her throat and felt something slip between the folds of her cloak. With a cry of anguish she lurched forward to retrieve the flute that was tumbling into the ocean. Her centre of gravity tipped over the railing and Hella tumbled after her prized possession, into a shocking green world of salt water, which closed over her head even as she saw the flute escape her grasp and sink into the depths...